The heavens won't spoil the skies,
unlike the hell that boils beneath us,
and unwrapped is the spoil of the prize
and head-on we walk into a bus.

I praise but could never had wished her
and her godly eyes and flesh perfection
is dreamy of a tanned and wonder colour
as my chest is like an athlete running.

I wish I could see her inner spirit,
and how she can pull back the tides
of those dreaming so desperately,
to corrupt the shores open so wide.